‘Tell yer what, it looks like yer’ve lost yer customer anyway,’ he said, lifting his chin towards the departing woman, ‘so how about if we go along and have a quick word with Fat Stan? Make sure he keeps an eye out for any trouble?’
Cissie nodded, delighted that Jim was looking out for her.
As they neared the station entrance where Stan was pitched, a big, burly man came up and stood alongside the paper stand. But Cissie wasn’t interested in him, she was interested in Fat Stan, or rather the state of Fat Stan’s face.
Both of his eyes were blackened and swollen and he had a jagged cut running from one cheek to the other, right across his nose. He looked terrible, in a really bad way. ‘Stan! Whatever’s happened to yer?’
‘This? This ain’t nothing.’ Fat Stan rolled what little could be seen of his eyes and tutted, dismissing her concern as completely uncalled for. ‘I had a stupid accident on me way home from work last night, didn’t I?’
Cissie moved closer, she went to reach out and run her finger along the distended contours beneath his eyes, to rub and kiss the pain better just as she would have done with the kids, but she didn’t. It looked too horrible, and it would take more than a mother’s touch to make that lot heal up.
She dropped her hand back to her side. ‘How on earth did it happen?’
‘Fell over, didn’t I?’
‘Yeah,’ agreed his burly companion. ‘Lucky I was there to save yer, weren’t it, Stan?’
‘Yeah, Bernie,’ he agreed matily, ‘right lucky.’
‘It must have been some fall.’ This time Cissie did reach out to him, but instead of his face, she laid her hand softly on his arm. ‘And there was me being all selfish, I was calling you all sorts yesterday morning cos yer weren’t here, d’you know that? All I could think of was why yer wasn’t here to help me when I needed yer.’
She lent forward and said in a whisper, ‘There was these two right horrible blokes here see, they thought they could take the pitch away from me.’
Cissie dropped her chin in shame. ‘I’m sorry, I can be such a selfish cow at times.’
With her head bowed, Cissie didn’t notice Jim mouthing a question to Fat Stan about what had happened, nor the aggressive look of warning that Bernie flashed at Jim in return.
When she looked up again, Fat Stan was smiling encouragingly at her, his puffy eyes reduced to slits. ‘Yer don’t wanna worry about a big ol’ lump like me, girl. I’m all right. And it’d take more than a few bruises to put old Stan off his stroke. You just concentrate on running that stall o’ your’n.’
‘Talking of which, Cissie,’ Jim interrupted, jerking his thumb back towards the stall. ‘Yer never gonna make a living if yer don’t start serving some of them customers.’
* * *
It was late Friday afternoon, the end of another relentlessly humid day.
‘So,’ Fat Stan called along to her. ‘How’s things?’
‘All right, Stan. Yeah. Ta.’ Cissie zipped her takings securely into her money apron, and walked over to him. ‘And how are you? Yer face still healing up all right, is it? Sorry I ain’t been along to see yer today, but I’ve been that run off me feet, I ain’t had a chance.’
‘Me boat’s doing just fine, sweetheart,’ Fat Stan answered, gingerly touching his cheek with his great pudgy fingers. ‘But I tell yer what, this bleed’n heat’s getting me down. I wasn’t built for this sort o’ weather, was I?’
‘It could be snowing for all I care,’ Cissie grinned. ‘Cos I’ve done it, ain’t I? I’ve run the stall for me first whole, complete week. All by meself!’
‘Well done, girl,’ Fat Stan congratulated her.
‘Yeah, well done,’ growled Bernie.
Cissie smiled her thanks at them both, but she really had to make the effort to act pleasantly towards Bernie. She couldn’t put her finger on it but there was something about him that gave Cissie the creeps, and it wasn’t just the fact that his big, bull’s neck was wider than his head, it was his manner. He was over-confident, swaggering, vain. Horrible. And the way she caught him looking at her sometimes… She shuddered.
Still, it wasn’t her business being worried about the likes of him, he was Fat Stan’s friend, not hers, and she had better things to think about.
She’d done it. Cissie Flowers, with help from some very kind people, was making a living for her family!
* * *
Fat Stan hesitated at the top of the stairs, but Bernie ushered him forward with a wordless grunt. As he stepped tentatively into the office, he could sense Bernie right on his tail.
Sweat was beading on Fat Stan’s forehead and upper lip, stinging his still-sore face. His shirt was soaked, and he felt like a damp dish-rag. But it wasn’t just the almost unbearable humidity from the gathering storm clouds that was getting to him – Fat Stan was terrified.
‘Yer wanted to see me, Mr Turner,’ he mumbled, head lowered respectfully. He could feel Bernie’s breath, hot on the back of his neck. He wished he’d just step back a little, give him a bit of space. He felt suffocated, knowing he was there behind him, looming over him, ready with those bastard fists of his.
Turner slowly propelled his chair around until he was facing Fat Stan. He took a long, unhurried puff on his cigar. ‘That’s right,’ he said eventually. ‘I did wanna see yer.’
He sniffed and looked Fat Stan up and down, appraising him slowly. ‘I’ve been a bit busy this last week, but I just wanted yer in to say how I’m right disappointed in yer, Stan.’
‘Disappointed?’ Fat Stan didn’t look round at them, but he was very aware of the two large men who, he could see at the edge of his vision, had come to stand on either side of him. He was surrounded. Neither they nor Bernie spoke, but he could sense that they were waiting attentively for instructions.
‘How’s that then, Mr Turner?’ he asked, when the silence had grown too uncomfortable.
‘Let me say, Stanley,’ Turner went on, ‘that I don’t just mean disappointed, I mean very disappointed. Disappointed that yer left yer stand the other day, especially when yer knew that Mrs Flowers was gonna be there. She had a nasty shock, yer know, when she come across them two slags standing there on her pitch. I didn’t like that. It got on me nerves.’
‘But I had to go to the lav, Mr Turner. I had to—’ Turner slammed back his chair and was on his feet, leaning across the desk. His finger was in Fat Stan’s face. ‘You had to do nothing. You are nothing. Not unless I tell yer. Right?’
He nodded feebly. ‘Right, Mr Turner.’
‘Good.’ Turner sat back down. ‘Now, if yer don’t want another slap, you just remember that. And don’t you let me catch yer leaving that little lady alone again. Right?’
‘Right, Mr Turner.’
Turner smiled easily. ‘Good. Good. And now, yer’ve got Bernie here and his mates to help yer, there should be no more trouble. Am I right?’
‘Yer right, Mr Turner. Dead right.’
‘Good, now bugger off, fat man.’
Stan turned to go.
‘Wait.’ Turner called him back. ‘Here.’
Stan looked round, half expecting another chiv in the face or a fist in the guts, but instead Turner held out a thin roll of notes. ‘Take yer missus out for a bit o’ supper,’ he said with a wink. ‘I like to see the ladies kept happy, don’t you, Stan? It makes life so much more pleasant.’
Fat Stan took the money and left the office as fast his bulging legs would carry him, muttering his thanks and apologies.
‘So, Bernie, tell me, how’s it going down there at Aldgate?’
‘Good, Mr Turner. She’s had plenty of customers all this week, I’ve seen to that.’
‘Have yer?’ Turner inclined his head in a gesture of. ‘I like that.’ He pointed his cigar at Bernie. ‘You’ve got the right idea. You know how much that little lady means to me. Good.’
He considered for a moment, thoughtfully tapping the ashes from the end of his cigar. ‘No more sign of Plains or his pet monk
eys then?’
‘I, er, bumped into one of ’em outside a boozer in Houndsditch on Tuesday, if yer get me meaning, Mr Turner. And I give him a little message for his guv’nor.’
Turner grinned. ‘Did yer?’ He sighed wistfully. ‘I miss the old days, yer know, when I was out in the streets keeping order. It’s all sodding bits o’ paper and telephone calls nowadays.’ He flicked idly at the tray full of letters and bills in front of him, then stubbed out the remains of his cigar. ‘I’ll have to come out with you chaps one night, keep me hand in, eh?’
Without waiting for a reply, Turner closed his eyes, leant back in his seat, folded his arms across his chest, and said, ‘Now, before Mrs Turner picks me up, I’ve got a bit of business to see to with Bernie here, so clear off you two, and tell that mob downstairs to keep their noise down.’
The two silent heavies who had flanked Fat Stan so menacingly did as Turner told them without question, leaving the room surprisingly quietly for such big men.
It wasn’t until they were at the bottom of the stairs that either of them spoke.
‘I don’t understand it, yer know,’ said one of them, his voice a low rumble. ‘That Turner’s got himself obsessed with this Flowers woman. He does it every time. All right, this one’s a looker, a real looker, but there’s women round here what’d drop their drawers and fall flat on their backs if he so much as lifted his little finger at ’em.’
‘It’s the challenge, ain’t it?’ his big mate snarled philosophically. ‘See, if yer’ve got girls ready to throw ’emselves at yer all the time, when one comes along what’s a bit prim and proper like, it drives yer mad, dunnit. ’Specially when yer always used to having whatever takes yer fancy whenever yer fancy it. Taking no for an answer ain’t something Turner understands, see.’
‘Prim and proper,’ the first man sneered sceptically. ‘I reckon she’s just playing games. Seeing how far she can push him. Keeping him panting for it, cos she knows she’ll get more out of him in the long run. Tarts’re like that.’
‘I think it’s a bigger mystery what keeps him with that old woman of his,’ the other one sniggered.
‘You telling me yer really don’t know?’ his companion asked, with a surprised lift in his voice.
‘Know what?’
The other man looked over his shoulder, checking that they couldn’t be overheard. ‘Now that Moe is a lady who definitely enjoys playing games. Right peculiar sort o’ games and all if yer get me drift. Games that the guv’nor really loves to play.’
‘What sort o’ games would they be then?’
‘For Gawd sake, you fresh off the boat or something?’ He leant close to him and whispered something in his ear.
The loud rumble of the other man’s lewd laughter echoed through the uncarpeted passageway.
* * *
Back upstairs, Turner was making Bernie sweat buckets, asking him all sorts of questions about Cissie Flowers and what she’d been doing during the last week and a half.
Bernie had always been a willing worker in the past, a man who would use a chiv or a set of brass knuckles on his boss’s orders without a second thought, but all this stuff about what some bloody tart was getting up to on a sodding flower stall, well, it was enough to shame a man. He had just about had enough of being a rotten nursemaid.
* * *
‘Hello, Glad,’ Cissie called as she stepped into number four. ‘It’s only me.’
‘Hello, Cis.’ Gladys was at the stove, stirring a big pot of stew – not the right sort of food for such muggy weather, but the sort of food that could be stretched to feed a hungry, growing family.
‘Where’s me babies then?’
‘They’re all right,’ Gladys said, resting the dripping wooden spoon across the top of the pan, ‘they’re out the backyard with Nipper and Ernie. Having a right old time they are, messing about with them rotten pigeons. Leave ’em for a minute and sit yerself down. I’ll make us a quick cuppa before I call ’em in.’
‘I could certainly murder a drop o’ tea.’ Cissie sat at the table, kicked off her shoes and, very tenderly, she massaged her calves and ankles. ‘Gimme a chance to catch me breath before I have to go over and look at Lil’s smiling face.’
‘Feet aching?’ Gladys asked over her shoulder as she filled the kettle.
‘You ain’t wrong there.’ Cissie laughed mockingly at herself. ‘I ain’t used to hard work, that’s my trouble.’
‘Don’t go knocking yerself, Cissie Flowers,’ said Gladys, busying herself getting the tea things ready, ‘yer’ve done yerself proud this week, I reckon.’
‘Do yer?’ Cissie was chuffed with her friend’s praise.
‘Yes, I do. Well done, girl.’
‘I’ve earnt a bit and all, yer know.’
‘Good luck to yer. You deserve it.’
‘And you deserve this.’ Cissie stood up and dug into her pocket. ‘Here, Glad,’ she said going over to the stove. ‘It’s just to show me appreciation for all yer’ve done for me.’
‘Thirty bob!’
‘I know it won’t go far with a family your size,’ Cissie apologised. ‘But—’
‘Yer daft mare,’ Gladys interrupted her. ‘I ain’t gonna take no money off yer. I’m helping yer with the kids cos I’m yer mate.’
‘But I really have done all right.’ Cissie shrugged. ‘I ain’t sure how, or why, but they’ve been buying flowers off me like I was giving ’em away or something. I ain’t never seen so many buggers buying flowers. I’ve earnt enough to get plenty of new stock, make ends meet indoors and, honestly Glad, that thirty bob’s for you.’
‘Listen to me, Cissie,’ Gladys said, pouring them both some tea. ‘I’ll take money off you when yer’ve got a chain o’ flower stalls right across the East End, all right? But until then, you keep it where it belongs, in yer purse. You’ve got enough to do.’
‘Well, yer’ll have to let me bring some food in then. Yer can’t keep feeding my two for nothing.’
‘I’ll be truthful, I wouldn’t say no to that, Cis.’
‘Good, and how about if yer let me treat us both to the flicks tonight? I’ll have to ask old happy cods first, but if I buy her a few bottles of light ale—’
‘Don’t worry about asking Lil,’ said Ernie who had just appeared in the back doorway. ‘Gladys could do with getting out for a few hours. Me and Nipper’ll see to the kids.’
‘Would you, Ern? Smashing!’ Cissie, her tiredness forgotten, was now looking forward to her evening out. ‘How about that new Paul Muni film?’
‘Bloody hell, Cis, do us a favour. That’s the last thing I wanna do. Can’t we see a nice musical? Something cheerful?’
‘It’ll have to be down the fleapit then, Glad.’
‘We’ve done worse,’ smiled Gladys.
‘And better! Remember when me and Davy and you two went up West to that supper club? Me and Davy’d only been married about six months. All cased up we was. They was the days, eh?’
‘This sounds like girls’ talk to me,’ said Ernie, stepping back out into the yard. ‘I’ll go and finish out there while you two drink yer tea.’
* * *
Cissie was back over at Gladys’s within the hour, washed, changed and excited. It was the first time she had been out in months. Lil had been appeased with a few bob to see her through another evening at the Sabberton Arms, so there was no worry there. And Matty and Joyce, who had had their tea and been changed into their night things so they could bunk in with their little friends, were both lookingto this new adventure.
As for Gladys, she had cleared up after her mob had demolished their stew, had combed her hair, and had swiped a lick of lipstick across her full, smiling mouth.
Cissie and Gladys were as ready as they’d ever be for their night out together.
‘See yer, girls,’ Ernie called to them from the front door of number four, as they swung away along the street, ‘and don’t do nothing I wouldn’t do.’
‘Well,’ Gladys called back ov
er her shoulder, ‘that gives us plenty of choices, don’t it!’ Then she leant close to Cissie and whispered something.
As one, they both stopped, turned round and called out, ‘Night-night, Lena!’
‘Don’t wait up for us tonight, will yer?’ Cissie added with a saucy grin. ‘Cos we all know yer need yer beauty sleep. We’ll report to yer in the morning with all the details.’
They were both still giggling at the look on Lena’s face as they turned out of Upper North Street into the East India Dock Road.
‘We’ve had some good times, ain’t we, Glad?’
‘We have that, Cis.’
‘But who’d have thought we’d have wound up like this, eh?’ she asked wistfully.
‘Hark at you. You’re doing all right for yerself, ain’t yer?’ Gladys could have bitten her tongue. ‘Sorry, Cis, I didn’t mean to say that. It’s just that I still forget sometimes.’
‘Don’t worry, Glad. I’m the same. I still can’t believe Davy ain’t gonna stick his head round that kitchen door, start teasing the kids and pinching me bum and messing.’ She looked away. ‘I don’t half miss him.’
‘I know, love.’
She turned back to face her friend. ‘And I know yer do, Glad, and that’s why I’m so pleased we’re mates again. It was like losing another one of me family when we wasn’t talking.’
Gladys squeezed her arm.
‘I’m sorry about the way I’ve behaved, Gladys, right sorry.’
‘Daft, what’ve you gotta be sorry for?’
‘Being a selfish cow? Only thinking about meself? Not seeing that other people have worries of their own? How about them to start with?’
Gladys shrugged. ‘You never had to worry about nothing before. So why should yer? And anyway, I wouldn’t have wished my worries on no one. And, let’s face it, Cis, you’re the one who’s really gone through it lately.’
The Flower Girl Page 17